A ten-pound ball, however, struck the frame of Artemis with a crash. One of the uprights was cracked, so that the tension of the skein on that side pulled the whole frame out of true.
Bias popped up from the ammunition room. "Woe and misfortune!" he cried. "She'll have to go back to the shop. Phaon, get the mules and the tackle for letting her down the ramp."
The desultory missile fight went on as we lowered the crippled engine. As the day wore on, however, and the water waxed rougher, the Antigonians gave up. One by one the ships turned and rowed away.
Unseasonable rain pattered down that night and continued the next day. I said to Bias:
"Sir, we now have one full battery of the new engines ready to mount. Why don't we bring in the remaining pieces of the old battery, so that when the weather clears, we can run the new ones up into position at once? I don't think Demetrios will attack while this sea keeps up."
"Maybe," grunted the carpenter. "We got word from a spy that the boy wonder was all set to bring out his new seagoing engines for a full assault yesterday, but Poseidon had other ideas. All right, let's round up the boys and get to it."
All but two of the catapults of the Eros class had been dismounted. Orion rested on the mole near its landward end, waiting to be hauled to the armory, while Eros stood on the mainland at the base of the mole. The rain—most unusual in Skirophorion on our lovely island—had thinned to a drizzle; darkness had fallen; a fog had come down upon us. The sea subsided.
We worked far into the evening. Torchlight was reflected in yellow ripples from the puddles on the pavement; at a distance each torch appeared as a weird glowing ball of orange in the fog. Phaon remarked:
"Would not this be a fine time for Demetrios to make a surprise attack?"
"You have too much imagination," I said. "Tell Simon to slack off on that rope before he pitches us all over the edge."
Faintly through the fog came the calls of the sentries, announcing midnight. We maneuvered Herakles, the last but one of the battery, towards the head of the ramp. Here we had to fasten ropes to the ends of the rollers lest they get loose from the frame and go rolling down the ramp on their own. With crowbars we teased the catapult over the top of the ramp.
"Watch out below!" Bias called down. "Chares, get some more men on those ropes or she'll get away from us."
"Grab it, Pronax," I said. "You, too, and you, whatever your name is. Ea, Onas! We need your thews!"
The men's shoes skidded on the wet wood of the top of the penthouse. Seeing that the engine was likely to pull loose after all, I seized the rope myself. Down went Herakles, a digit at a time. The catapult had been lowered halfway down the ramp when' there came a sound from the dark.
"What's that?" I said. "Listen!"
"Come on!" came Bias' voice from the head of the ramp. "We don't want to be here all night. Stand clear, Kriton!"
The sound waxed until there was no doubt of what it was: the splash and thump of the oars of light rowing craft.
"Battery leader!" I called. "Something is coming—"
Even as I spoke, the bark of commands and the clatter of weapons came from the seaward end of the mole. The sound was repeated, closer to hand: against the mole where stood our penthouse. Lanterns bobbed in the dark.
Somebody shouted: "The Macedonians come!"
There was a rush of feet around the base of the penthouse. Almost as one man, those holding the Herakles' ropes let go and dashed for the ladder to the ammunition room, or to the ramp, or lowered themselves over the edge of the penthouse roof and jumped. Most of the torchbearers dropped their torches and links, which sputtered and went out.
I found myself the only man holding my rope. The weight of the engine dragged me at ever-mounting speed towards the ramp until I let go just in time.
The Herakles rumbled down the ramp, struck the paving of the mole with a bang, and continued on its course. With a crash it rammed the Orion. There was a frightful shriek from the darkness; one of the men of the battery was caught between the two engines and had his legs crushed.
Other artillerymen slid or scrambled down the ramp. I followed. Except for myself and a few others who wore swords, we were all unarmed save for daggers.
I reached the foot of the ramp at the tail of the fleeing crowd. Beside me an Antigonian, looking a plethron tall in his crested helmet, loomed out of the darkness. His stabbing-spear jabbed out; the point transpierced an artilleryman, who fell with a scream.
I had my hand on the hilt of the short sword that had been issued to me. Hardly knowing what I did, I swept out the blade and aimed a cut at the spearman's arm. The blade bit through; the spear clattered to the pavement.
I stepped in, slashing and thrusting before the man could bring his shield around to ward me off. Somehow my point found his groin, below the edge of his corselet. It went through the straps of his kilt, and down he went with a groan.
My most urgent need was for a shield. Not a man in the battery bore one, and without shields there was no hope of stopping the Antigonian spears. With my free hand I tugged the fallen man's shield from his arm. It was of Macedonian pattern: a small buckler of wood and leather, without a bronze facing, made to be thrust up the left arm to free the hand for managing the long Macedonian pike, for which there is but little use in a siege.
When I got the shield on my arm, I found Antigonians all around me. If none speared me, it must have been that in the darkness they were unsure of who I was. They clattered shoreward in pursuit of the artillerymen. I ran with them, gaining because of my lighter gear and my familiarity with the site.
A few steps brought me to where the two catapults stood: Orion, previously lowered from the penthouse, and Herakles, which had smashed into Orion when the men had released the ropes. The man who had been crushed lay still, wedged into the space between the engines.
Although the two catapults blocked most of the mole, around one side a passage still existed. Here a little crowd was gathering: Antigonians trying to force their way past, and Rhodians striving to stop them.
I took two running steps towards an Antigonian who stood with his back to me while he jabbed at the Rhodians before him. I swung my sword up for a cut at his neck—and stumbled over a body. My shield struck the back of his corselet and gave him a violent push. He shouted something, doubled up, and fell to hands and knees.
I almost fell on top of the man, recovered my footing, and got my shield up just in time to block the swing of a sword. Such was the force of the blow that I thought my arm had been broken.
"Temple-robbing sodomite!" gasped the Rhodian, swinging his blade up again.
"Bias!" I cried. "It's I! Chares!"
"Chares? Well, don't stand there! Get in line with us!"
I stepped over the body of the man whom I had pushed and Bias had slain, and crowded into line. The carpenter had somehow obtained a shield and stood in the middle of our little group, blocking spear thrusts and dealing out sword blows at the nearest Antigonians. Behind the mass of foes, an officer shouted:
"Push on, men! They are but a handful! Push on!"
The Antigonians continued to jab. While we could parry or block their thrusts to some degree, we could not effectively fight back, because the reach of their spears was much greater than that of our swords.
I blocked and carried with the rest, panting: "Hasn't anybody gone for help?"